Benny Stitch's Arc

Chapter 5 of 10

Benny had just finished the pop-cap coat when the bell rang again. A boy in a green vest stepped inside. Benny knew him. This was one of his three orders, the jacket that needed taking in. But the boy carried no jacket. He wore it, and he was grinning. "People are talking about you," the boy said. "The mud dress. The stick one. They say you make clothes out of things nobody uses." He tugged his green vest. "I don't want it taken in anymore. I want it redone. Loud. Like nothing anyone's seen." Benny opened his binder and looked at the clean line where the old order sat. He should have felt proud. Instead his stomach dropped. His scrap pile was empty. He had used every reed, every cap, every disc on the two dresses and the traveler's coat. He had nothing left to build from. "I'll do it," Benny said, because a no would end the talk that was feeding him. "Come back in three days." The boy left happy. Benny stood alone with an empty bin and a promise he could not keep. He walked the lane at dusk, scanning for anything discarded. Nothing. Then, behind the closed shops, he found a battered dumpster shoved against a wall. Ribbon spilled over its lip. Spools of thread, cracked frames, tangled cord, and a crate of bolts and screws sat piled inside. Someone had thrown out a craft store's dead stock. Benny dug in with ink-stained hands. He lifted out a fistful of nuts and washers and turned them in the light. They clicked together. They caught the glow like small mirrors. He filled his coat pockets until they sagged, then carried two more armloads home. For three days he did not sleep well. He quilted a puffy shell first, round and soft. Then he stitched hardware across it in rows. Bolts down the sleeves. Bright washers scattered like buttons. Screws lined the hood. Every piece had to hold without ripping the cloth. He tested each seam by hand, tugging until he trusted it. The boy returned on the third day. Benny held up the finished coat. Metal covered it end to end, gray and red and yellow, quilted into soft ridges. The boy went silent. Then he pulled it on and spun. It rattled and shone. "This is it," the boy breathed. "This is exactly it." He paid, then stopped at the door. "My cousin runs the toy shop. She wants one too. And she'll tell others." He grinned. "You're going to be busy." Benny wrote the new order in his binder. Under it he wrote three more names the boy called back from the street. His hands were sore. His scrap bin was empty again. But now he knew where to find more, and now the whole lane wanted the loud things only he made. His shop had a line forming. He needed to prove he could keep up.